One
by patagonia
Summary: Hermione lets her mind wander in Potions and thinks about the universe and her friendship with Ron and Harry. Very slight pre-HGRW. One-shot.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or really anything else of value, come to think of it.

This is just a little something I felt the need to write. I really just wanted to write about lines, so I made a story of it. I can't tell if it makes any sense or not, but I hope you enjoy it.

**One**

Hermione Granger traced her fingers along the lines of the well-worn table. Some lines intersected with others, some did not. Some were deep short gashes that refused to connect with anything else, and still others were light scratches that criss-crossed the whole table. There were burns and remains of spills – some scorch marks, some blotchy formless masses and some discolored areas. For some odd reason, the lines, cuts and burns commanded her attention. She wasn't sure why exactly; perhaps the fumes of the Potions class were getting to her. A soft little smiled played at her lips.

Hermione was not the kind of girl to fall victim to such silly trances. She had seen Parvati and Lavender use such techniques to attract attention – there might be some little frown gracing their features and a thoughtful gaze upon their faces as though they were contemplating the vastness of the universe. They said it made them look mysterious, and boys were attracted to mysterious women, hence the looks. They probably had a point; boys were attracted to Parvati and Lavender, but Hermione often thought those looks made them appear brain-dead. Hermione had been tempted to tell them that there was no mystery if they deliberately planned such expressions, it just made them look like manipulative little snots, but she didn't. At seventeen, Hermione had finally learned to pick her battles.

It was just a table for goodness sake! Hermione tried to shake herself out of her reverie and focus on the task at hand, but this table fascinated her in a way few other things had, so she continued to glide her fingers across the lines. She felt blank, and yet strangely happy. It wasn't the overwhelming happiness of family and friends, of love and belonging, or the satisfied happiness of knowing she once again received the highest mark in Transfiguration or Arithmancy, but it was more of a slightly disturbed feeling of contentment in being at one with the world. The lines belonged to her hands and her hands belonged to the lines. There were no lines and there were no hands. All was one.

No lines and no boundaries. What a lovely and yet frighteningly horrible thing. Words and definition had no meaning. All was art and yet nothing was art. There was just the universe and the starry mass that contained them all. One could get lost and melt into that mass. How marvelous. Hermione didn't really believe in the concept of heaven, but she imagined it would be like that – a starry mass with lines everywhere encircling everything, and lines nowhere, containing nothing. Her smile widened.

Who would have thought that Hermione Granger would find such joy in such nothingness and uncertainty? She liked that about herself. She liked that there was this untouchable part of herself that even she didn't understand. They were questions with no answers, and when they had first crept into her waking consciousness, they disturbed and frightened her, but now. . .well, now was different wasn't it?

The fact remained that lines and boundaries stifled her, and she was sure that others felt their oppression. For example, Ron was not always the simpleton he appeared. True, he could not grasp some concepts she could, but he would readily die for his friends and family, and he was undeniable brave and loyal. Although Quidditch dominated his conversation, he could, when pressed, open himself to new ideas. He readily admitted when he could not understand something, even after hours of effort and questioning. At least he was honest. She liked that about him.

Harry was certainly restricted by his being, by his name and accomplishments. Harry had no wish for fame, and although he wouldn't say, because teenaged boys do not say such things, she knew that he desired close friends and a family more than anything. He wanted love, not glory. It was an odd thing. If asked, many boys in her class would wish for glory above love, but not Harry. And those boys were just as restricted by their ideas of glory. They did not understand, as Harry did, that glory will invariably fade and heroes will eventually fall.

As for Hermione, well, she was dubbed the bookworm, and although she could not refute that claim, there was so much more to her than that. There was a depth in her that few had tapped. She supposed it was easier for people to label others so superficially – no time and no energy was wasted in truly discerning another's character. She knew she often fell into that trap as well. It could exhaust a poor girl to figure everyone out.

Unbeknownst to her, the slow sensuous movements of hand were wrecking havoc on her best friend sitting next to her. Ron Weasley tried not to look at that hand, and tried not to imagine just what it could do to him, but it was rather difficult. He was just a seventeen year old boy after all.

He might have thought she was sad, the way she meditatively moved her hand along the table, but her coy little smile suggested otherwise. It was strange to see Hermione engrossed in such a simple little activity. He always thought of her as a little above the rest of them – a little smarter, a little more mature and dignified. Not that her current actions were undignified and immature, they were just so simple, so basic, so. . . un-Hermione. He wondered what she was thinking or if she was thinking at all. He might ask her at lunch today. What a great day it could be if Hermione Granger admitted to not thinking. He and Harry would never let her forget it and Ron couldn't keep himself from grinning at that delicious thought. He did so enjoy baiting Hermione.

Hermione's hands were poised just above the table. She lightly pressed her fingers against the table. In one of their more theoretical Advanced Transfiguration lessons, when they first learned about atoms, Professor McGonagall told them that atoms were approximately ninety percent empty space; so theoretically, two people could pass right through each other because physically, they were mostly empty space. She pressed her fingers a more firmly into the unyielding table. Theory could be such a dumb thing. Reality was little better, it could be so crass, so inelegant.

Atoms were ninety percent empty space, but they were packed together so densely, it was unlikely she would get her hand through that table. She wondered what it would be like if she could pass her hand through the table. Would she feel the wood, would it feel like water and what about the atoms – what would they feel like?

"Miss Granger."

Maybe she wouldn't be able to feel the atoms at all – that seemed the most reasonable.

"Miss Granger, am I to understand by your vacant look that you do not know the answer to the question?"

Hermione reluctantly looked up and tackled reality. She wished she hadn't, she was faced with a sneering Professor Snape. It might have been her imagination, but despite his sneer, he looked almost joyful at the fact that she did not appear to have the answer.

"I'm sorry sir, what was the question?"

"Were you not listening?"

"No sir," Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks, "but I'm sure if you repeated the question, I would have your answer." Her reply was one of quiet confidence.

"Repeat the question?" Professor Snape replied as though he had never heard of such a thing, "I think not. Five points from Gryffindor for your inattention Miss Granger. See that it does not happen again."

Hermione shrugged. The rest of the class murmured their confusion – Hermione Granger did not treat the loss of point so flippantly. Hermione just wanted to return her attention to the table, but her fascination had waned, what with Snape and all.

"Five more for your insolence Miss Granger." And with that, Professor Snape returned to his dull lecture on the properties of moonstone.

Hermione wished there was a window in the dungeon classroom to distract her as she had no interest in anything Snape said. She already knew all about the properties of moonstone, and could have answered any question Snape threw in her direction, thank you very much.

She watched the rest of her class for a bit. Crabbe sat next to Malfoy. One had his head on the table, and Hermione thought she could see a glimmer of drool about his mouth, but she wasn't sure, while the other looked arrogantly bored, strumming his quill on his parchment. Lavender and Parvati scribbled away frantically, trying to catch Snape's words verbatim. The two girls struggled in Advanced Potions, and Hermione wondered why they took the class. Neville wrote with grim determination. The last couple of years had wrought quite a change in the boy. He still fumbled and stammered sometimes, but he had found some source of strength that boldly propelled him forward.

Harry wrote steadily and occasionally shot her a gaze. She assumed it was to make sure she was alright. She knew he was probably puzzled by her behavior and although he was one of her best friends and was by no means shallow, he too had neatly categorized her. Ron sat next to her, his feet thumping on the floor. He appeared to have little need to write anything at all, except a few juvenile scrawlings of some Quidditch move.

Harry couldn't help looking at Hermione. He was worried for her even though she appeared at complete peace with the world. One must never forget that these were dark times. His biggest fear was that Ron or Hermione would betray him, willingly or not. He had nightmares where one or both of them would be put under the Imperius Curse and hand him over to Volemort. Harry did not fear death, or even torture, but he did fear losing his friends.

Last summer, Hermione and Ron had badgered him until he told them of his nightmares. He didn't want to tell them, it was a childish fear, but they wouldn't stop. There was shouting, crying and hugging that night. Hermione and Ron thought they had the perfect cure for his fears. The two had willingly allowed Moody to repeatedly put them under the Imperius Curse until they could effectively fight it. It took the better part of the summer. Mrs. Weasley was less than pleased with the plan until she figured out that Moody could make Ron clean his room. While the nightmares had subsided, he still had to wonder when one of his best friends acted a bit unlike themselves.

His two best friends never ceased to amaze him. Hermione could be prissy and bossy, and Ron could be dumb and shallow, but he knew they would do anything for him. With one last glance at Hermione, he noticed she was watching Neville with a happy little smile on her face. Perhaps he would have to tease her at lunch about that one. One of Harry Potter's not-so-secret pleasures was to tease Hermione about boys, especially in Ron's presence. He felt positively evil.

Hermione watched with her head cocked to the side, as Snape stalked and billowed his way across the room. Advanced Potions was almost as much lecture as it was practical potion-making. She really didn't think he liked the lecturing part much, preferring to bark at students when they bungled their potions. She wondered if he really took pleasure in his sneering and sarcasm. One would think so considering he did it all the time, but still she wondered if such things could really bring anyone pleasure. She felt sorry for him in many ways – his defensive manner suggesting he had been hurt, his unwillingness to really help students in his wish to keep his brutal dominance, and his stand-offish manner, which told Hermione that he was a little afraid of people and the emotions they roused - but she still couldn't stand the man. She wished better for him, but did not wish to have any part in it.

The jars along the walls were the next to grab Hermione's attention. There were dried roots, various animal parts floating in some liquid, and other strange things. They were beautiful in a disgusting sort of way. She remembered her first Potions class and the surprise she felt at seeing the dull colors of the potions ingredients. She thought that she would see the most brilliant colors in that room. True, the potions themselves could be absolutely dazzling, but potion ingredients were undeniably dull. Strange that such drabness could make such beauty. Again, she smiled.

The noise of the classroom increased as everyone got ready to leave. Parchments and books were packed away, as sighs of relief at the end of another lesson filtered through the room. Hermione put her few things away, and met her friends outside the door.

"You alright Hermione? You seemed a little spacey back there." Harry slung an arm around her shoulder.

Hermione smiled at her friend. "I'm fine Harry, just didn't feel much like listening to Snape."

"Amen to that. I never feel like listening to that greasy old bat," Ron said, sliding an arm around her waist.

As they walked down the halls of Hogwarts, Hermione felt completely at ease flanked by her two friends. Their friendship was not an equal one. Three was not an easy number. Harry and Ron had more playful fun with each other. Hermione and Ron had a very tentative agreement that there would one day be more to their friendship, and she and Harry could talk about the things Ron would not understand.

She supposed in a way they balanced each other. It was really quite amazing to see a friendship as strong as theirs, considering all the things they had faced through the years. Of course, those things probably brought them closer. If two were fighting, the third would eventually bring them together, if all three fought, as rare as it was, one or two of them would sacrifice their pride for the others.

"So, Mione, what exactly were you thinking about?" Ron asked rather wolfishly.

Hermione grinned and shrugged. They would not understand, but that was fine. She was just happy with the world as it was, which included her two best friends who could not see the beauty and ethereal symbolism in a tattered old table.

"Oh please, oh please don't tell me that you weren't thinking of anything," Ron began dramatically, with a mock-frightful look on his face. "What can the world be coming to? Oh gods, help us, Hermione wasn't thinking. Nothing will ever be right in the world again." Ron flailed while he spoke rather loudly. Their classmates began to look.

"Oh Ron," Hermione giggled, playfully poking him in the side.

"What shall we do? Life has no meaning," Ron continued wailing and bawling.

"I know what she was thinking about," Harry said grimly.

"And what was that Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Well, there comes a time in every girl's life when she discovers the attributes of the other sex. It is a difficult time, she must decide which sort of man she wants, which sort of man she needs," Hermione didn't know how Harry could look so serious and yet so playful at the same time.

"Do tell Harry," Hermione laughed. They made their way to the Great Hall, and seated themselves for lunch. Hermione sat next to Harry while Ron faced them. Ron seemed a little uncomfortable about the present topic, but only let little of it show.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of Hermione," Harry said earnestly as he patted her on the shoulder. "A girl has certain desires that must be fulfilled and while I can't understand your attraction to Neville, I well," Harry placed his hand over his heart, "I give you my blessing."

Hermione and Harry exploded into laughter. Ron joined them after a moment of hesitation. The three friends talked and laughed their way through their meal. It was the most light-hearted time the three had shared in quite awhile. Classes, upcoming NEWTS, and the ever-present threat of Voldemort demanded most of their attention.

She did not exactly know why she had spaced out in Potions. She had never done it before, and would not do it again, but she needed a little break from the reality that was her life. It wasn't a bad life; she just needed something that was a little different. She unconsciously blushed when she thought about how that table had distracted her and how she had found her classmates and professor so interesting.

When she woke this morning, Hermione knew that today would be a little unique, maybe a little surreal. She had lain in bed much longer than usual, stretching languorously and playing with Crookshanks. She had been happy from the moment she woke. Thoughts of homework and Voldemort did not threaten her bright mood.

Harry and Ron argued rather loudly about some Quidditch team. Ron looked ready to detonate when Harry suggested that some beater named Martin couldn't beat himself out of a paper bag. Hermione couldn't help but smile at the antics of her two friends. At this moment, this was where she belonged, they three belonged together, and what a lucky thing. How many people could find such friendship? Their lives and goals sometimes intersected each other, sometimes not. At times, they acted like a single being, but most times, they did not. They fought and laughed and studied together. They shared in each other's accomplishments and awkwardly comforted each other when needed.

She knew it wouldn't last. How could it? They would grow up and maybe apart, but she had right now.

Hermione decided that reality wasn't such a bad thing after all. What could silly little lines in an old Potions table have on this closeness anyway?


End file.
